I have no idea what I`m doing o-o

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This was beginning to get out of hand.

It had started off as a moderate appreciation, walking by only to catch a few of her heavenly verses before walking on. Then it grew more frequent until Erik found himself purposely lurking around those streets, hoping to hear the sweet angel yet again. It only got worse from there, before he knew it he was in her house, wrapped in shadows as he leaned against her door, listening to her sing herself to sleep. The man would like to say it stopped there, he would like to say that it went no further, but the very next day he found himself inside her room. She had already fallen asleep, there was no singing to appreciate, yet he still found himself blessed simply by watching her. It felt like a sick thing to do, but how could he deny the way he craved even a glimpse of her.

Believe it or not, it only grew worse.

Now, Erik`s body shook as he stood there. His fists were painted with the blood of the boy who laid crumpling before him. The boy had worked as a footman in that girl`s house, Erik had seen him during his visits once or twice. Said footman was passing by with some comrade of his when Erik was making his exit for the night. Just as Erik had slipped into an alley, he had heard that boy say those awful, disgusting things.

"Ladies becomin` quite lovely." One whispered to the other.

"The Daae brat? Oh, she`ll look plenty lovely once I get her on her back." The other one sneered.

"Aiming pretty high there, Cal."

"Ya kiddin` me? Do you see the way she looks at that Chagny fellow? She`s a slut if I`ve ever seen one. Oh I assure you, she`ll be beggin` for it."

That`s when he had lost it, his anger reaching a boiling point as he swiftly moved out of the alley, grabbing the damned brat by his throat before ramming him into the wall. The boy`s friend, if he could even be considered that, ran away like the coward he was, leaving Erik alone with the struggling footman.

"Wh-what do you want? Money?" the boy attempted to empty his pockets, but the masked man pulled back and slammed his gloved fist into the boy`s face before another word could be said. Grunting, the boy fell to his knees, barely conscious as the man held his face up to deliver yet another blow. It was wrong. Erik knew it was wrong. But he felt no remorse as he took all his anger and frustrations out on the brat. The boy had lost the will to react a while ago, but Erik held back no savagery. By the time he was done his gloves were drenched, his eyes hard and cold as he watched the boys shaking form.

He was alive.

How unfortunate.

Growling somewhere deep in his throat, Erik found himself turning away, his cloak falling around his frame rather dramatically as he exited the street.

The events of that night had surprisingly made the papers, not as the main story- obviously, a little mugging wasn`t enough for the headline- but as a side-story. Thankfully for Erik, due to the darkness, the boy had no idea what his attacker looked like. According to the article though, the boy had apparently broken his jaw in two places but would survive. The story served as a warning of sorts to the townspeople. Best to stay indoors after dark.

Bitterly, the man placed the newspaper down on the table he had plucked it from. Quietly finishing the breakfast his servants had laid out for him, thinking, contemplating. Oh god, when had things gotten so dark. Just when he was beginning to hit a clean streak, this happened. The egotistical bastard within him decided it was all that girl's fault. Seducing him with her songs, turning him into a slave of her will; all her fault. Even before her he was no saint, but he was getting better. It had been a year with no violent outbursts, almost a year, that streak had just ended now. November 24, 1870. Damn it all.

At least this one survived? At least this one was not a murder.

Oddly, that did not soothe the man`s guilt.

Deciding there was no point in meddling over that which was done, he lifted the paper up yet again. This time his attention turned to the main story. There was apparently some large aristocratic party taking place tonight. How like France to place a party on a higher pedestal than an almost murder.

What an unjust world we live in.

Erik was willing to muddle over that thought a little longer when something caught his eye. That name. Daae. Quickly, he re-read the paper, wondering how he had possibly missed it before. The family hosting said party were none other than the Daae`s. Not only that, but it was a masquerade. How fitting. For a moment, the man wondered if this was fate playing some cruel game with him yet again. Make everything seem so possible only to remind him for the billionth time that what he craved was what he can`t have.

Once again, Erik found himself wishing.

Wishing he hadn`t attended that night, wishing he was nowhere to be seen when Sir Gustave Daae gracefully stepped down the main stairs of his estate, beautiful daughter by his side as he flourished his hands in a welcoming gesture. Erik wished he hadn`t heard the charm in his voice as he asked the guests to treat his home like their own. He sounded like a good man, logical and honest as he toasted the night before whispering something to his daughter and heading off into the party.

It was then that Erik wanted to act, to reach her before anyone else, to plead for a dance no woman could deny. But such thoughts were quickly dismissed from his mind as he saw that man walk up to her. He walked with all the elegance in the world, a smile brighter than the sun graced his lips as he offered her his hand. She took it instantly, dancing away with him as they shared pleasant discussions. She alone lit up the room, and for once in his life Erik felt jealousy unlike anything he had known.

Now don`t misunderstand, the man had spent a good chunk of his life being jealous. Jealous of beauty, jealous of love, jealous of family. Jealousy was a dear friend of his. Just like violence was. The world he grew up in was harsh. You had to fight to survive. Quite literally. And he was ready to fight for this, to fight for her attention. To kill for it.

Erik sighed.

Perhaps these thoughts were a little too rash, making such declarations when he had not even spoken to her yet. How could he be so in love with someone he didn`t know? Ah, but that was it, wasn`t it? It wasn`t that beautiful dancing woman he was in love with. It was that angel, the one with the heavenly voice that he desired. You could learn so much about a person simply by hearing the passion they can pour into a song. And oh, passion was one thing she didn`t lack. He should have known as soon as he heard her sing that he needed her in his life.

With strong guidance, she could become something to behold. And who better to guide her than himself? As said before, the man was no saint, but he did have his strengths. Music, wound undeniably be one of those.

All he needed was a moment to think this through. A moment to decide what he needed to do to have her. Surely, he`d think of something. He wouldn`t let this angel escape him so easily. With that thought in mind, Erik roamed away from the room, eventually ending up in what was no doubt Gustave`s study. He had spent a few curious moments looking over the little Knick knacks that lined the shelves when the door opened.

Two men entered.

Erik wasn`t surprised when they didn`t notice him, shadows had an awful habit of wrapping around him. Hiding him from the world he didn`t wish to be a part of.

"What changed your mind Anthony?" the first man sounded angry as he addressed the other, and as the two moved into the room, Erik recognized the first to be Gustave. Perhaps this little session of theirs could be interesting.

"Let`s face it Gustave." The other man, Anthony, sounded far more calm, far more firm as he spoke. "You have squandered the wealth you once had. There is no title to your name, and no inheritance in your fortune. Besides, a duchess reached out. I find it more fitting for Raoul to have a woman of wealth and of title."

"But what of love?" Gustave seemed as if he was pleading, "Surely the boy still loves Christine."

"That is besides the point." Anthony replied, "Raoul will marry whomever we choose for him. And we choose the Duchess Lorette of Yorkshire."

"But you don`t understand." Gustave continued his pleas, "My life is near its end, I have fallen ill and the doctors fear there is no recovering. All I have left is my Christine. All I want is for her to be taken care of once I`m gone."

"Ah, unfortunately, I fear that is none of my business. You are a good friend of mine Gustave. I hope you do not take this personally, but I can`t have my son squandering off such an opportunity. Good night." On that note the man turned away, leaving the study before softly closing the door behind him.

For a good while Gustave was still, watching the door before crying out in anger. He charged at his table, tossing the contents off of it in a fit of rage. He continued to break things, or at least attempt to break them, before his anger faded. With one emotion gone, a new one settled in to take its place. Gustave dropped on his chair, propping his elbows on the now clear desk and holding his head up. He sobbed to himself, mumbling about how his family was ruined.

Best not to waste such an opportunity, Erik mused.

"It is too late to save yourself." The masked man spoke loud enough for Gustave to hear, earning his attention as he moved away from where he was hiding. "But perhaps salvation awaits your daughter."

"Who are you?" the Swedish man asked, looking too tired to be scared or angry.

"A man with both wealth and title." Erik replied, managing to soften his usually dark tone as he came into Gustave`s view.

"What nonsense is this?" once again, bitter sadness replaced the anger Erik was expecting.

"I have an offer for you."